Drabble
by Ventiwings
Summary: How the hell am I supposed to tell you how I feel in a hundred words or less? One shot.


Drabble

Summary: How the hell am I supposed to tell you how I feel in a hundred words or less?

_It's been so long since I've written/completed a fic, and here it is!_

_This is a terrible way to greet you guys again ;A;_

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How the hell am I supposed to tell you that you looked like a freaking angel that time I caught you from falling down that damned tree?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that you look indescribably gorgeous when you just woke up inside my arms?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you how unbelievably attracted I am towards you whenever that shitty laugh of yours rings in my ears?

And by shitty, I mean so damned melodious that I try my best to be a foolish comedian just to hear it on repeat.

You are so damn annoying.

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I wanted to wrap my arms around you to keep you from falling apart when your three year boyfriend broke up with you for another girl?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I got sent to the principal's office with a month detention for beating the crap out of him because he made you cry?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I got ground for two weeks and sneaked out of the house to go to the movies with you only to be ground for an additional three days?

That's fine, though, cause it was so damned worth it.

Though, the movie sucked, and it was a waste of eight dollars.

You were much prettier than the leading actress in that shitty chick flick that a seven-year-old must've written.

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that you wake me up in the morning when I had that head pounding fever last night?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that the reason I dragged myself to school was because you said you'd make me lunch yesterday?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that you can't cook worth shit, but stomached it down until I was dragged into the infirmary?

The nurse found me out, by the way. She merely shot me a glance, a smirk, and a piece of womanly advice that had me confused as to whether or not the red-face was because of the fever.

She laughed after wards.

And that laugh wasn't as nearly as pretty as yours.

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I purposely lent my umbrella to my friend just so I could stand in the rain with you?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I could see the childishly green bra through your drench school shirt?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I could only concentrate on your pretty face with your innocent teal eyes more than your see through clothes?

It takes a hell of a lot to do that – I'll have you know. Get it through your thick skull and think.

Think really hard because it's so damned obvious that I can't tell you.

I can't and it's annoying.

Can you please not be so adorably dense?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I made sure to be the one who got all of your school work before your best friend did?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I had to pave my way through the upperclassman hall way just to talk to your damned crush to give it to you?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I visited after your bonding time with your damned crush and dropped off some fresh fruit only to have a short chat with your mom instead?

She talks a lot, and I mean _a lot_.

But she reminds me a lot of you, like how sweet and caring and so damned annoying in a precious sort of way that makes you wanna protect her.

Like you.

Just like how I think of you.

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I got asked out and wasn't at all thrilled?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you how broken apart I felt when you were the one who encouraged that uninteresting girl to confess?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I wanted to tell her that I liked _you_ and that I wanted to hear her words come out of _your_ mouth?

I am getting so sick of this game of imaginary conversations with you and thinking of things I could say and should say.

I'm getting really sick of liking you the way I do, of wanting to spend more and more time with you with every step we take away from each other.

I decided to write a letter – a drabble of sorts, because I know you like reading those.

But...

How the hell am I supposed to tell you how I feel in a hundred words or less?

How the hell am I supposed to tell the most amazing girl I have ever laid eyes upon, met, talked with, and laughed with that?

How the hell am I supposed to tell you that I am head-over-heels, desperately, and so damn tired of being in love with you?

It's been over three years and I'm getting sick of these fantasies, so you better open that damned window right now and climb down that forsaken tree where you looked like a clumsy angel who descended just to bring me something to wake up to every day.

It's obsessive to phrase it that yeah, I know, I damn well know, but I'm so tired of keeping it in.

Open the window and just tell me your answer.

"He's crazy... It's snowing out there, he couldn't possibly..."

Although the words of disbelief escaped her lips, her body had other ideas. Her legs were swung over the bedside, her feet slipped themselves into the blue, fuzzy slippers that kept her warm, and she pulled together her robe. Alright, so maybe he wasn't the only one who was crazy, but the girl just needed to know after reading this sloppily written letter with its many crossed out words and scribbled out sentences. The paper itself was a wreck with the sides crippled and smeared with ink.

The envelope also showed signs of being strangled.

All in all, the letter looked like it was a victim of writer's block and the outlet of a frustrated young writer who, in his best efforts, conveyed what he's been feeling for nearly three years?

She dropped the letter onto her bed, shuffling towards the fogged up window, and could feel the cold radiate despite the distance. It was definitely a cold winter's night with the snow dancing in the swirls of the wind brushing against the blankets. She dragged herself over her small hand and rubbed it against the glass, creating a small circle clear of fog to see the outside world in all its wondrous white. She shivered a bit, closing her robe once more out of habit, and glanced around the winter wonderland beyond the glass.

...He couldn't possibly-

Her breath was caught in her throat as her so-called innocent teal eyes widened in utter shock. She quickly wiped clean the window as much as her frantic eyes could until a wider range of sight could be fed to her. Her lips quivered until her lower jaw dropped in bewilderment and her shocked sight was captivated by the image of that crazy boy standing in the midst of snow. The frost was nearly at the height of his pulled up snow boots that were a jet black color, fitting for a boy his age.

His arms were wrapped around his shivering body, a giant winter overcoat covering his teenage physique, and long snow pants stuffed into his boots. He was sloppily dressed and looked quite warm in contrast to the weather outside. What could he possibly be thinking for so long? How long had he been standing there? The snowflakes pranced around him while some stuck until the branches of his hair that escaped the tight confines of his hood.

A smile unknowingly stretched itself across her lips as she pressed a hand against the glass. ...He's been standing there for so long...

With a nod of resolution and a moment to throw caution to the wind, she dung her fingers under window and brought it up with some trouble. A gust of wind roared itself into her room, instantly causing the girl to wrap her arms around her small body and buckle her legs to contain the fleeting warmth. Then she crawled over the snowy window sill and called out,

"You can start by saying, "I like you" and then work on the next ninety-seven words by persuading me to go out with you!" she yelled out, her cheeks turning rosy from the frosting nibbling her exposed skin. "And you could've told me last week when it _wasn't_ snowing so hard!"

He looked alarmed, obviously showing it when his head perked up, and the fall of his hood revealed his unruly dandelion yellow spikes. His face was rosy and bitten with frost for standing outside for so long that it felt like his face was frozen stiff. However, her laughter resonated in the cold, seemingly silent night, and his lips broke into a wide grin. Without missing a beat, he stretched out his body and punched his right fist into the air, his legs kicking snow up into the air.

"_Hell. Yes!_"

She laughed, clapping her hands.

* * *

Terrible ending to a terrible first fic after...a couple of months?

I wanted this to be extremely casual and short, but I kept expanding and expanding and then stopped because I have somewhere to go right now.

Thank you for taking the time to read!

~Ventus


End file.
